


Pack Street: Den

by MisterEAnon



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterEAnon/pseuds/MisterEAnon
Summary: Written for Thematic Thursday. Theme: Species specific customs.In the wild, Corsac Foxes were known to steal the dens of other animals.Charlie's lucky enough to follow in the footsteps of her ancestors.





	Pack Street: Den

In the wild, Corsac Foxes had a tendency to steal the dens of other animals.

They could dig their own, of course, but they tended to be shallow. Accordingly, taking over someone else's den and turning it into a communal one was the way to go.

As I slumped against the brick wall behind me, looking out on Pack Street, I reflected on how I seemed to be following that particular custom of my species a lot.

I'd just been kicked out by my host. Again. And now I was looking to find someone new to take me in, again.

But in the meantime, I was stuck out in the cold, shivering, with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Again.

I had just about decided to go look for an alley I was relatively unlikely to be shanked to death in my sleep in if I slept there when I heard a door opening. I glanced to my left, spying a timber wolf coming out and settling down on the steps.

She noticed my stare, and returned it, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket as she sat on the stoop. “What? The others don't like it when I smoke inside,” she grumbled.

I glanced inside. Others? I supposed I could look inside, and ask around if anyone needed a room-mate.

 

 

 

No. No, no one needed a room mate.

Well, those two aardwolves had implied I could stay the night, but they were looking at me so lecherously I felt it was better off if I took my chances and kept looking.

I was just about to leave when I ran into a stoat.

Literally. He bounced off my chest, and I stared at him as he fell over.

He didn't stay down for long, though. In fact, he sprung back up almost immediately raving nigh-incoherently in my face. I only heard “Watch where you're going, you stupid bitch-” before I started to tune him out.

Instead, I glanced to the side. We were standing in front of one of the many apartments in the building. “Is this yours?”

He squinted at me, winding down from his fit. “What?”

“Is this your apartment?”

“No, you moron, my apartment is two doors down.”

I stepped aside. “I won't keep you, then.”

He flipped me off, and walked past me. My steps were silent as I followed. He unlocked the door, and I followed him in. He padded off into another room without turning around, and I could hear a shower turning on.

I took a seat on the couch, and thought. I could just quickly steal everything I could carry, pawn it, and hope I made enough to spend the night somewhere safe and warm.

Something told me not to, though. I didn't know why, but I had the persistent notion that I could try to convince the stoat to let me stay. It was probably illogical, but I had more or less literally nothing left to lose.

Well, nothing but the chance to steal everything I could carry, of course.

It was ten minutes later that the stoat came out, and was immediately incensed by the sight before him. I'm not sure why, I was only reading.

“You have a lot of books,” I commented idly as I flipped a page. “Why so many?” The formatting in this one was particularly strange, I had to admit. It was unusually compelling.

He gaped at me. Then he hopped up and down. “What- What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!”

I paused, turning the book around and checking the cover, before doing it again and going back to reading. “I appear to be enjoying something called 'House Of Leaves.' Also, you didn't answer my question.”

His eye twitched. “Didn't an- I'm a librarian! Of course I have fucking books!”

I turned another page. “Good taste in books, too. This seems to be a personal copy, from the wear on it.”

He scoffed. “Oh, like YOU would know what a good book is like.”

I glanced up at him. “I seem to be enjoying this one.”

He crossed his arms. I really should get his name at some point. “No you're not. You're- You're a fox, you're just running some kind of fuckin' con. If you like the book so much, why don't you tell me what it's about?” he demanded.

I hummed noncommittally. “Well, obviously, the book itself is the house of leaves. Anyone could have guessed that from the title alone.”

He looked deeply unimpressed. “Yeah, no shit--”

I didn't stop. “But of course, you can't stop there. It's obviously a lot deeper then the surface, and the imagery swiftly becomes layered and multitudinous, like leaves upon a tree. Were there not so many of them in one place, it wouldn't really look like a tree, would it? The complexity inherent is an essential part to the image of what the book is.” I flipped another page. “That's just objectively speaking, of course. If I were to expand upon how the plot is a reflection of the reader-”

He grunted. “Fine, you know what the hell you're talking about. It doesn't explain why you're in my apartment.”

He seemed a little calmer, I noted. As often as he'd flown off the handle in the limited experience that I had with him, intellectual discussion seemed to sooth his ire. “You have a nice apartment.” I reached over to a nearby table. There was a small pile of bookmarks on it, and I selected one, sliding it into my open book before shutting it.

He padded over, grumpily swiping it from me and inspecting the book to see if I had somehow ruined it. Probably purely through the 'virtue' of being a fox, no doubt. “Don't bookmark my books,” he grumbled. “And what's wrong with YOUR apartment?”

I shrugged. “I don't have one.”

He squinted at me suspiciously. “What the fuck does that have to do with you breaking and entering?”

I glanced behind me. “I didn't break anything. I just entered. While the door was open, I might add.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Answer the question.”

I glanced around. “You have a nice apartment. I'd like to join you here.”

He stared. “What, like move in? You think I'm gonna let- Let some random fuckin' fox off the street move in just because she asked if she could?”

I tilted my head in a semi-curious manner. “I was hoping so. Otherwise, I would continue to be homeless, and would have to find the safest alley in pack street to sleep in tonight. Given what I've found, I doubt any of them are particularly safe.”

He squinted at me, as if trying to determine if I was feeding him a sob story. I wasn't. That was just my plan if he turned me down. I returned his gaze levelly.

He glanced away. “Whatever. It's not like you could even pay rent.”

I reached for my book again. “I do periodically come into wealth I could put towards rent.”

He slapped my paw away. “Don't touch my books,” he ordered. “And what could you possibly pay?”

I shrugged. “Whatever's in the pockets of assholes on a particularly busy day.”

He stared at me. “Fucking hell. You- You're a pickpocket, and you're asking me to let you live with me! Christ. Not only could you not pay rent ANYWAY, but now I would be HIDING A FUCKING CRIMINAL-”

Oh, dear. It seemed he had started to shout again. He was really turning quite incoherent with rage. It was kind of cute, in a 'Puppy throwing a fit and rolling around on the floor with impotent anger' kind of way.

He seethed even more when I started to reach toward more books. But I didn't take them. Instead, I picked up the smaller mammal, hugging the stoat against me gently. Immediately, he started to writhe furiously.

“LET ME GO YOU FUCKING FOX--”

“Shh,” I hushed him gently. He was full of anger, and particularly slippery. As it happened, I was slipperier.

He very, very slowly stopped writhing as it became clear that it wasn't helping him get free. “Why are you fucking hugging me?” he demanded, though there was no real heat to his swearing.

I held him a little closer. “You're cute when you're mad.”

He hissed. “Fuck off.”

I did not fuck off. Instead, I just gently started to rub down his back.

He tried very, very hard to hold onto his anger. But slowly, the tension eased from his frame, his body relaxing into my attentive touch.

“You're very tense,” I noted. Feeling it was safe to do so, I reached over and pulled back the copy of House Of Leaves. “Why don't we read together?”

He grumbled, shuffling out of my lap to sit next to me. “DON'T do that again. And- Give me that.” He swiped the book, opening it to my bookmark. “If you're gonna read this, you might as well understand it. So, what chapter are you on- I'm probably gonna have to explain all the previous ones, I'm sure, like every other idiot who's ever picked up this thing-”

I let him ramble. We read together.

He didn't throw me out.

It was a custom in ancient times for Corsac foxes to seek out the dens of others to live in. A custom that had largely died out.

I was glad I still followed it.


End file.
